


Plausible Deniability

by MMXIII



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Hallucinations, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychopaths In Love, Reunion, Trauma, Whump, criminal boyfriends, mormor, staying alive - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:51:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMXIII/pseuds/MMXIII
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'‘Sebastian’</p><p>It hangs in the air, a shard of glass that won’t fall from the backboard of a broken mirror that keeps catching your eye. Refracting your sordid half-smile, your blackened eyesockets. Not again you think, not now.'</p><p> </p><p>[After the Fall, Jim returns to find Sebastian decidedly worse for wear...]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plausible Deniability

**Author's Note:**

> [I may edit here and there, bc I like doing things like that :)]
> 
> Thanks!

‘ _Sebastian_ ’

It hangs in the air, a shard of glass that won’t fall from the backboard of a broken mirror that keeps catching your eye. Refracting your sordid half-smile, your blackened eyesockets. _Not again_ you think, _not now_. It’s been weeks, weeks since the last fucking hallucination, waking dream, whatever. Weeks since you stopped tensing before corners. Sleeping with your phone. Smoking outside. You thought maybe it was over, maybe your mind was _finished_ the way your muscle memory never would be. You don't _want_ your brain to itch the way your index finger does. You hunch your shoulders and bow your head over the kitchen counter, resolutely refusing to look behind you. To see him again. _Shut up_ , you murmur, _shut up, shut up_.

‘ _You know_ ’ says the wraith, playful, light, ‘ _this was alarmingly easy to find. If I was you I’d-_ ’

There’s a sharp crack as your fist slams down against the countertop. It hurts in a very distant, _not good_ sort of way, but you will not listen to this, you _cannot_.

‘ _Well I see you haven’t changed’_ , it says, perhaps a little amused? Perhaps- no fuck, hallucinations don’t have fucking personalities. Pull yourself together. Straightening up you nod faintly to the overhead cupboards directly in front of you, turning to leave the kitchen in the hope that J-.

That it will go.

To your despair, _it_ is standing just shy of the nearest exit. Black suit. Crisp white shirt. Shined Italian shoes a narrow shoulder’s width apart. _Oh god_ , you groan internally as everything shakes. You don’t usually see him this, this _detailed_. All the swagger, the charm, the façade. For months _after_ , because that’s what your life is now, ‘before’ and ‘after’, you would hear deranged screaming, manic whispering, feverish typing, impatient tapping, sometimes breathing.

Sometimes you can’t tell if you’re awake, if half the things you remember were ever real at all, if your hands are red in the dark.

This is too much, you think vaguely; maybe your mind is totally fucked, finally calling it a day before you start having whole conversations with bloody walls, not that it hasn’t happened already.

It seems to look right at you, as if daring you to leave. You step forward, level with your shitty fridge; it doesn’t take its hands out of its pockets, but it straightens up a little. Pulls its shoulders back. Confrontational. _Well good_ , you're annoyed anyway.

You take another step – you need a drink. You aren’t sleeping, that must be it, maybe you-

‘ _Wait_ ’, it says, open, questioning. The left hand is raised as if to appease you, the expression guarded, withdrawn.

You snarl involuntarily, all teeth.

He would never do that. You must be forgetting - all that’s left of him is what you can remember. Now you're both fading away.

_You are enraged._

Adrenaline floods the white itch behind your eyes as you reach for your gun, click it, raise it. It feels kinda stupid, stood in your kitchen having what must be some kind of panic attack, pointing an automatic weapon at plasterboard. It also soothes the vague twitch in your fingers. _Why won’t you leave me alone?_ You whine, brokenly. But that’s what you are now isn’t it. Broken. Collateral damage. The immovable object that may just have come off worse than the unstoppable force.

_The wind starts to pick up, rushing over your ears._

 

_The civillian looks faintly confused for a split-second, and then begins moving towards you, closing the distance._

‘ _Oh Sebastian’,_ he murmurs, and in your mind, his voice is softer than it should be.

Another step forward and you hear his sole click sharply on peeling lino. _How_

 _No_ , your brain snarls, _NO!_

_There are two clear cracks as a sweet mechanical recoil jolts through your arm._

_You hear shouting in the distance, a chopper thrums overhead. It's so hot, it makes your head hurt, and there's sand beetween your toes and-_

 

‘ _Calm down, Sebastian_ ’

You're inside. 

You're inside and the wall is unblemished.

An awful choked sound tears out of your throat. There's nothing in your hands.

And _Jim_ is standing in front of you. Casting a shadow.  _You can taste blood, smell it on him. the memory of it sharp and familiar._

 

Your hands are shaking. Whole arm. No. body, shaking.

The space behind your eyes explodes with pain.

‘ _Look at- No, Sebastian. Look. At. Me._ ’

 

_The gun thuds heavily against the dirt-road, next to your bare feet._

_Your knees follow, cushioned harshly in the dust. The sky seems to go on forever. Covered in stars._

 

_Someone's here_


End file.
